


If there were stars in the night

by ninemoons42



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Beer, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Disguise, Hand Jobs, Hot Weather, Los Angeles, Los Angeles Dodgers, M/M, Making Out, Not Wearing Underwear, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky go to Los Angeles and see a baseball game and sneak into a park after hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If there were stars in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to afrocurl for the LA-picking and beta. Any other errors that remain are mine.

"It's not the same," Steve says, and shifts his backpack from shoulder to shoulder. 

"It's not the same," Bucky agrees. "The hot dogs were okay, though."

That makes Steve grin, and duck his head, and he nudges Bucky in the ribs, and people stare at them as they make their way out the ticket gates, but. Well. They're actually wearing disguises for this little field trip of theirs. Brown hair dye that'll wash out easily for Steve; green contact lenses and clean-shaven cheeks for Bucky. Light layers and long sleeves, and they're even wearing almost-fashionable plaids, so no one looks twice at the fact that Bucky's wearing a leather glove on his left hand.

"Now what?" Bucky asks, and Steve eyes the beads of sweat in Bucky's hairline. He thinks he knows what Bucky's going to say next, and he's not disappointed: "It's so warm out. Don't really want to waste it."

"Warmer than New York City anyway," Steve says, nodding. He catches Bucky's hand in his, holds on carefully, and the metal fingers are hard and unyielding and a comfort. It feels good to hold Bucky's hand.

"So let's not go back to the hotel yet," Bucky says. 

"Okay," Steve says, and they make their way out to where they've parked. Bucky is driving. The evening's falling fast. Start-and-stop traffic. 

"Park?" Bucky asks, at length, as they idle at a corner. 

"We're about to leave one, unless you wanna turn around," Steve tells him.

"And it'll be full of people the moment the game ends, so, no. Let's find another one. Someplace big and quiet and, I dunno, someplace we could get lost in?"

Steve pulls out his mobile phone, and starts a search, and - "Griffith Park? It's supposed to be bigger than Central Park. More untamed. Caves and hills and all kinds of quiet nooks."

Bucky nods, and he doesn't bother to turn the climate control on, and he rolls all the windows in the car down instead.

///

"I like this," Bucky says, quietly, as they turn down another meandering path. They've parked the car and they've passed through a set of entrance gates. Trees hanging overhead, and a gently rising slope, and they can't see the stars in the sky for all the light pollution but they can also see, in the distance, the dome-shapes crowning the Griffith Observatory.

He can clearly make out the pleased shape of Steve's smile even when they step off the trail and into dusk's shadows, and he can't not stop and taste that, and that's how he ends up kissing Steve in the darkness, the skin of Steve's neck damp with sweat.

They break apart, and with night-adjusted eyes Bucky can see how how Steve puts a finger to his lips. _Silence._ He nods, to show Steve he understands, and then he lets Steve lead him further alongside the trail.

A copse of trees just ahead. Bucky taps Steve on the shoulder, motions towards it. Steve nods, once, and together they scout forward, and - movement, up ahead. Movement and very bright lights.

Steve takes shelter behind a tree, and blinks, and frowns. 

"Dammit, what is that?" Bucky asks, as quietly as he can.

"Those lights are far too bright, and I can see people walking around. I think they might be shooting a TV show."

"At night?"

"Yeah," Steve whispers.

"Not there, then."

"Yeah, let's skirt around it."

"Other side of the trail," Bucky suggests, and leads off. 

He can just barely hear his own footsteps, and Steve moves just as silently as he does, and that's something he didn't think he'd use stealth maneuvers for, but that's just another sign of life now that he's mostly Bucky and still part the Winter Soldier. He remembers Steve. He remembers that he's been forced to do terrible things. He remembers being beaten and being brainwashed. 

Bucky pushes those thoughts out of his head, because here it's not cold at all; here it's warm and he's sweated through his layers and it feels good to have that heat pushing in through his skin, a far cry from being frozen over and over again.

"Down," Steve whispers, pointing, and Bucky nods, and they scramble nimbly down a steeper slope. Stone and grass susurrus marking his footsteps and Steve's.

Another ring of trees, leaf-wreathed branches pointing into the deepening evening, and this time when Bucky steps into that circle he can hear his own heartbeat, and he can almost hear Steve's, and there's nothing around them. Friendly shadows sheltering them, posted like sentries around the perimeter of the copse.

Muttering next to him. Bucky can make out the shape of Steve, who is on one knee in the grass, and doing something with his backpack. He'd been wondering all day what Steve had been carrying around with him. Now he knows, because the shape that touches his hand in the dark is cool and makes sloshing sounds when he tilts it a little to the side, and he touches the top - it unscrews - and takes a long, appreciative drink. 

"How'd you make sure it stayed cold all day?" he asks when he's drunk half the beer. He licks foam off his lips, and drops into the grass, stretches his legs. 

"Mini coolers," Steve whispers. "Bruce designed them."

"How'd no one go after you when they checked your bag?"

"They look like rolled-up blankets."

"Amazing. We can get him a gift basket when we get back." Bucky takes his time with the rest of the beer, really tasting it on his tongue. It goes down easy, and Bucky sighs, appreciatively.

"I got another couple of beers for later, unless you want them now," Steve says around the sounds of swallowing.

"Nah, I'm good," Bucky says, and he lies down, and he closes his eyes for a moment. 

He can feel it when Steve stretches out next to him, just a few inches away, and he bridges the gap by touching Steve's hip, and gets an inquisitive hum in response.

"So let's forget we came out here for a shitty baseball game," he says, and his reward is Steve chuckling. 

"Well, we had to do it once, now we don't ever have to do it again."

"Damn the Dodgers for moving outta Brooklyn."

Steve laughs. He sounds so softly amused, so sweetly easygoing, and something inside Bucky uncurls, pleased, and he levers himself up on an elbow and squints at the ghostly outline of Steve's face.

"Hey," Steve says. He might be smiling. There's only one way to find out.

Bucky bends down and kisses him, unhurried, and Steve sighs into his mouth and opens up for him, and he tastes like malt and hops and something that Bucky can't really describe but can only associate with Steve: the bright welcoming tang of him.

One kiss after another, and each kiss might last minutes or hours or days: time falls away.

And Bucky surfaces from another languid kiss to find Steve's hands on him, one at his throat and the other rucking up his layers. 

"Is this okay?" Steve whispers, and he sounds dazed, a little short of breath.

Bucky steals a kiss. "Better than okay."

"Good," and Bucky thinks that word's as good as a smile, Steve sounding happy, and he reaches out to tug at Steve's long-sleeved shirt, a steady pull as he lies back down until Steve's leaning over him.

If there were stars in the Los Angeles night, Bucky thinks, Steve would be outlined in them right now.

///

Bucky is sprawled out beneath him, and in the darkness Steve can see flashes of his smile. 

But when Steve kisses him again he's not aiming for his mouth; Steve kisses Bucky's chin, instead, prompting a quiet laugh that he feels more than he hears. Encouragement, and Bucky turning his head to the side, so the next thing that Steve kisses is the angle of his jaw, a steady and familiar curve.

"Steve," Bucky whispers.

"I've got you," Steve replies, "or you can tell me to stop."

"Don't stop."

"Okay," Steve says, and he says the word against Bucky's skin, against the salt and the musk of him. That, too, is familiar, or it almost is, because Steve can smell metal on Bucky's skin - the metal of the left arm. Bucky's sensitive there, almost unbearably so, and that's why Steve presses only a whisper of a kiss against the demarcation between flesh and metal - and below him, Bucky exhales like it's being punched out of him.

"Too much?"

"No, no, it's okay," Bucky says.

Steve lays his ear against Bucky's skin anyway, and Bucky's heartbeat is loud and slowing down. He presses a kiss to the damp material of Bucky's undershirt.

The slow rocking movements, the smells and the soft sounds, Bucky pliant beneath him - Steve can feel heat stirring, low and sharp in his belly, and he takes that feeling in and doesn't let it take him over. They're not exactly in a hurry.

He crawls back up and catches Bucky's mouth and this time they open to each other, Bucky's tongue meeting his easily.

Bucky's hips push up into him, and Steve groans softly into Bucky's mouth. He breaks away, and he's hoarse when he mutters, "You want to?"

"Only if you're up to it," and there is only a very faint idea of a challenge in those words. Mostly Steve's hearing an easygoing acceptance, easy agreement, the two of them doing what they want to do.

Now it's almost too warm and Steve rears up and shrugs out of his long-sleeved shirt, and he's still sitting back on Bucky's legs when Bucky sits up to do the same thing. Steve watches him take his glove off, too, and now the metal arm is catching what little light they've got to see by, and he can't help but trace it, from Bucky's shoulder to the slope of the wrist - and then he takes Bucky's metal hand and turns it upwards, and he presses a kiss into the palm.

When he looks at Bucky again he can see a faint smile. "Thanks," is all Bucky says, however.

"You're welcome," and Steve kisses him again.

When Bucky tugs on the hems of his undershirt Steve lets him pull it off. He doesn't make any similar moves, just sits back again - Bucky hesitates, and then he's naked from the waist up, too.

"You okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah. Can you kiss me again?"

He doesn't have to be asked twice, and it's even better when Bucky takes over the kiss, and Steve hangs on as best as he can, slides his hands to Bucky's waist and digs his fingers in.

Bucky rolls his hips upwards, and on the downward motion Steve finds his fingers sliding into the waistband of Bucky's jeans, and he pulls away and grins and pushes Bucky back down to the grass. He's a little clumsy when he goes for Bucky's fly. There's something odd about the resistance in the material, and he pulls the zipper down slowly - 

Bucky's not wearing any underwear.

Steve blinks, pulls back, looks down. Sheen of sweat on Bucky's skin, the dark material of Bucky's jeans, the thin trail of hair that leads down from Bucky's navel.

"Really?" Steve asks, and he'd meant it to be playful, only he sounds soft and awed and suddenly very, very needy. Desire roars in his ears like wildfire.

"Really," Bucky says. 

What else is there to do? Steve maneuvers himself off Bucky's lap, and crouches between Bucky's spread legs, and he leans over, so close, and says, "If you wanna - "

///

Bucky groans, because Steve's right there and so close and he's being such a nice guy, only Bucky's not interested in nice. 

So he grins, and grabs Steve by the back of his neck, and bears him down, just a little - 

He groans very very quietly when Steve takes him in, when Steve starts working down, and it's excruciating, it's so good, and Steve doesn't stop until Bucky feels himself hit the back of Steve's throat.

"Steve," Bucky whispers. 

The reply he gets is not in words. It's Steve swallowing around him, the muscles of Steve's throat fluttering, and Bucky's thankful for the darkness, for the trail, for the lack of light - for everything. 

Steve moves, and Bucky gasps and fights the urge to thrust up into Steve's mouth, and he's about boiling over, need and want and - 

"Steve," he says, low and quiet and helpless.

Steve doesn't pull off. Steve deep-throats him again.

Bucky groans, and gives in, and when he comes, he sees the stars that aren't in the blank night sky.

///

Steve swallows Bucky's come as best as he can before stretching out next to him, before listening to Bucky fight to get his breath back. "Good?" he asks, and he gets a soft half-laugh in response. It makes him smile.

He lies back down and he can hear his own pulse, loud in his ears; he can feel his own cock, hard and trapped in his jeans, and he doesn't move. It feels good. Restraint, and Bucky trying to recover, and the night sky covering them in protective darkness. It'd have been a far different experience had they been beneath the stars, had there been more light, if they knew nothing about being silent and stealthy. 

This current experience is pretty good, and Steve knows he's grinning far too happily for someone with a pretty insistent erection, but the heat and Bucky's reactions have left him loose and languid, and he's not expecting Bucky to say, "And you?"

"Don't worry about me," Steve says.

"It's sweet that you think I'm asking because I'm concerned," Bucky laughs, and then Steve grunts, because that's Bucky's hand at his hip, fingertips carefully stroking up and down his length. "Can I?"

"Okay," Steve says, and he catches his breath as Bucky leans over him, kisses him, and then kisses the exposed skin between his navel and the waistband of his trousers.

And then he nearly vibrates up off the ground when Bucky pulls at his jeans, when both of Bucky's hands close around his cock, and - suddenly he's not so relaxed any more. 

Especially not when Bucky starts whispering to him: "I like feeling you like this, I wish I could see you clearly, I bet you look like you're really enjoying yourself - "

"Bucky," is all Steve can say, sparks dancing all up and down his nerves. He shifts his hips closer, fighting for more contact, and metal fingers and flesh ones grip him and pull on him, till he has to bite down hard on his lower lip or he'll start screaming, and they can't exactly do that - 

"Tell me how you feel," Bucky growls, softly.

He's near vibrating out of his skin. "Harder, more, Bucky, please - "

"Yeah, I got you - just, remember, you gotta keep it down - " 

Steve covers his mouth with both hands as Bucky steps up the pace, and the sparks catch on his skin and ignite and - Steve comes, muffling his shout, and his reward is Bucky kissing him and whispering, "You sounded so good, Steve. Almost as good as when you're yelling the block down."

"Come here, please?" Steve says, when he can catch his breath, when he's sure he can talk, which takes a while.

Bucky holds him and he holds on to Bucky, and it's hot and they're going to need to sneak out of the park soon and - yeah, the world can go hang for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/).


End file.
